


Reprieve

by thebookishbee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookishbee/pseuds/thebookishbee
Summary: As a new threat to the Wizarding World dawns upon the people of London, Harry Potter struggles through his eighth year at Hogwarts. Mysterious attacks, a strange relationship with Draco Malfoy, who seemed to have changed after the war, and a trip to Beauxbatons all encapsulate his time at school. (Drarry, Draco/Harry Fic).





	1. Is it Paranoia?

* * *

A small, gritty road was the only sign of civilization leading towards the forest, which had seemed to cover nearly everything in wet, mustard green overgrowth. Two battered signs were barely visible underneath a heavy string of climbing fern, which seemed to knot itself around the grooves in the wood. Just beyond these signs stood what could be mistaken as a doorway; someone had bashed through a veil of vines, giving the appearance of a natural arch. Past this, the sound of fire could be heard, and stepping closer would reveal a group of four people, neatly sitting on a few various logs. They were whispering, hardly audible, poking sticks into the little ring of fire, kept at bay by a couple of stones.

"I 'eard Kenny quit last week," one them spoke, Scottish accent heavy, leaning closer to the woman on his right.

"Did he?"

"Oh, yeah. Made a big deal, too. I doubt Johnson's happy."

"Probably not," she agreed, taking her stick and watching as the kindling jumped through the flames. "Johnson hates quitters. I'll bet he's going to tell the whole neighborhood about it, and no one's ever going to hire Kenny again. Poor guy. Bad move, really."

"Bad move? Career-ending, I'd say," the man huffed, pulling himself up with importance. "I'd never quit like that. Kenny's a right fool."

"Foolish, yeah," she nodded, stirring the fire again. "Hope he's okay, though. Got a family to feed."

"Ay, sure, but he should've thought of that before he challenged Johnson!"

"Talking 'bout Kenny?" Another man turned towards the woman, face searching for gossip.

"Yeah," she replied, seemingly bored.

"Well?" He prompted, eyes flashing in the dark.

"'Well' nothing. He quit. That's it."

"Johnson knows?"

"Bloody hell, of course he knows," the other man butted in with quiet fervor, coming dangerously close to the fire, face lit dramatically by orange light. "They said he was goin' to fire Kenny that week. Guess Kenny knew and thought it'd be better to quit. Not like we all knew."

"I didn't know," the woman said crossly, her scowl hidden by the night. "Maybe he really did just quit. You two are always looking for excitement. And trouble," she added, turning away from both of them.

"Aw, Lauren, you didn't really like Kenny all that much, did you?"

She glared viciously at the man beside her. "Of course I didn't like him, but it's not like I like you either. The both of you are annoying."

"Oh, guess I should quit too," he quipped, smiling at the ground.

"Witty, aren't you?"

"Very."

"Oi," another woman's voice broke out from across the fire, "shut up, will you? I think I heard something."

Lauren let out an impatient groan, turning to the man beside her with a furrowed expression.

"You're so paranoid, Patricia," Lauren let her head drop to her hands. "There's nothing out here. Pete just thought it'd be a funny little jest to come drop us off in the middle of nowhere."

"I think it's doing wonders for team-building," Pete, the man beside her, smirked. "This is the most you've ever spoken to me, Lauren, and I'll say that that's an accomplishment."

"You're not that special, you know," she remarked dryly, poking the fire again. This time, her stick caught on fire, but she calmly blew it out, quickly then resuming to prodding at the big, nearly charred log in the middle of the flames. "Sometimes, you act like a real prick, Pete."

"Oh-ho, insulting me now, eh? Knew you'd run out of wit someday."

Fiery, Lauren made a move to respond, but was swiftly cut off by Patricia.

"Shut up!" Patricia hissed, and Lauren narrowed her eyes at her.

"Patricia, there's nothing out here," she repeated.

"I swear, I heard something, and John said he heard it too!"

"No, really, she's right. Probably just a bird or something, but it spooked me a little," the other man spoke, wrapping his arms around himself. "We got any blankets, Pete? Or better, whisky?" He sent Pete a sly smile, extending a hand over the fire.

"No," Pete shook his head, "it's all-natural out here. We stay warm with the fire."

"What?" Lauren asked incredulously, turning to Pete. "No blankets? Are you mad?"

"Not at all, Lauren dear. You'll survive. I think."

"Pete! I swear, next time you ask for a favor, I'll make sure it's not 'a camping trip in the woods.' This isn't camping! This is-this is torture!"

"Well, I'm glad to know that you're enjoying yourself so much," Pete laughed, and Lauren gave him a raw, burning stare.

"Lauren! Pete! Stop the bickering and shut up!" Patricia's voice wavered, and Pete looked over to her.

"Patricia, calm down, will you?"

"No!" she shrieked.

"Guys! I heard it! Just-just stop talking!" John's eyes were bulging.

There was a brief moment of silence, in which the only sound was the rustle of trees. Then, after perhaps a minute, Pete began:

"Look, nothing. Patricia, it's fine, there's-"

Suddenly, Pete's voice was interrupted by the sound of sticks breaking, as if someone was walking towards them. Delicate, timed footsteps seemed to be making their way right behind Lauren, and she shivered.

"See?" Patricia whispered, hands shaking. "I told you!"

There was no response, but Pete carefully picked up the axe beside him and raised it over his head.

"Who's out there?" His voice quavered, axe trembling in his hands. "Just a bird, I hope?"

"No bird makes that sound," Lauren scoffed, "it's probably a deer. Just sit down, Pete. Patricia and John are crazy."

"We're not crazy!" They said in unison, but trailed off as the steps came nearer.

"Pete," Lauren warned, "put that axe down. What the hell are you doing?"

"Just makin' sure, Lauren."

"Oh, my god," her head bobbed, "you're all idiots."

Nothing seemed to transpire for a few minutes; Pete stood, axe held up high, while Patricia and John quaked in their seats, anxious. Then, in an instant, a bright flash of green light shot out from the forest, trees illuminated in a vibrant, electric ray of chartreuse. Pete dropped to the ground, limp, and his axe clattered over the log, into the fire.

"Holy… Pete! Pete, get up!" Lauren dove to his side, shaking him. Head spinning, she tried reaching for the axe, but her fingers singed easily in the fire. "I said, Pete, get up! If-if this is your idea of some-some funny little joke, I'm telling you, it's not funny!" Green light shot above her head, and she screamed. "Get up! Pete! Get up!" Lauren slapped Pete, to Patricia's horror, but was stopped when another tremendous blast of light knocked her over, violently banging her head on a log. Her eyes seemed to go blank, as if they were shrouded in fog.

"Oh, Lauren! Pete!" Patricia gasped, scrambling over the fire and towards them. "John, get-" But, before Patricia could call for him, she too was hit by the light, and this time, a proud, booming voice echoed around the forest.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Someone shouted, sending more green light out, hitting the trees with a bullet-like force.

John, watching in terror as someone's boot slipped from the forest's cover, began running at an amazing speed, pelting through the thick undergrowth.

"Car, car, where's the car?"

His voice was just above a whisper, and he felt the light bouncing off the trees beside him. He looked around, frantically trying to find Pete's Ford. Pulse throbbing at an impossible speed, John made a turn, leaping over several fallen logs. Green light swelled around him, as if a great toad had swallowed him whole. The forest was teeming with snaky, whip-like vines, and John's hands extended themselves above him, balancing and swiping plants out of his way. In a terrifying moment, his foot caught on a tree root, and he was sent flying into the ground. Miraculously, a near-perfect beam of light missed its aim, and soared right above him. Shaken, but numb, John ignored the burning sensation creeping up his knee as he began running again, shoving and pushing through the growth. A dark-looking bird perched above him, sending out a loud, eerie call. He wasn't sure if this was a warning, or perhaps if the bird was a colleague with the green light, but he didn't have long to dwell on it when another ray came frighteningly close. The bird seemed to follow him, hopping from branch-to-branch, and John attempted to outrun it, diving over bushes. He came to a quick stop, unsure of where to go, but instantly saw a small sliver of moonlight to his left. He turned in that direction, hoping the madman behind him didn't see his change in course. Hitting vines and ferns out of the way, he could see the arch that Pete had cut, and the gravel road ahead. Green light came dangerously close to him, just whipping past his cheek, and John burst through the arch, screaming as he struggled with the lock on Pete's car.

"Locked? Locked?" He almost demanded the door to open, pulling the handle with tiring exertion.

Green light hit the side of the car, and John banged on the window, praying it would break.

"Stop," a voice commanded, and John continued to frantically break the window. "Please, please, please," he feverishly whispered, pounding with all his might. Looking down, he saw a rock, and, with great force, swung it towards the window, feeling relief as it shattered.

"Stop," someone said again, but John wriggled inside, hitting the gas pedal, but realizing he had no keys. "Keys, keys," he began searching, but looked upwards when a dark, cloaked figure stood at the window beside him.

"Stop."

A long, rugged stick rested carefully above John's nose, before a brilliant shower of light seemed to envelop him, turning the whole forest into a surreal shade of green.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is just lead-up to a larger conflict; don't worry, the Hogwarts students will be in the next chapter. This is the first chapter to a much longer story, and the relationship between Draco and Harry is a very slow-burner. I'm going to be adding chapters as fast as possible (without compromising quality) so follow if you'd like to read more. Stick around if you want, and thanks again!  
> -Bee


	2. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all go out shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley. However, once there, Harry meets an old school rival...

Breakfast with the Weasleys was always a pleasant thing; Mrs. Weasley scrambling around, doling out toast, Ron saying something very daring and stupid at Hermione, Mr. Weasley propped up with The Daily Prophet. Harry, always a fan of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, was currently shoving down several sausages at once, despite Hermione's protests. He and Ron had been too busy playing Quidditch last night to get a proper dinner, and Harry was famished. Thankfully, he didn't choke, and instead moved on to his coffee, which went down hot and bitter in the back of his throat.

"Harry, slow down, will you?" Hermione said sternly, taking a break from lecturing Ron, who seemed to be only half-listening, face buried in a pile of scrambled eggs.

"I'm alright," Harry swallowed, his tongue on fire. "Just… excited."

"Yeah, Er-mynee," Ron mumbled, "'Arry hasn't been out of the house in a while."

"Well," she said carefully, "I 'spose it's exciting to be going back to Hogwarts, but I didn't think either of you enjoyed buying school supplies all that much…"

"Oh, no," Ron put on an oafish grin, "we love it."

Hermione, losing the argument, simply shook her head and returned to her own breakfast.

"Yes, school supplies," Mrs. Weasley chirped, scraping more eggs on Ron's plate, "what's on the list this year?"

"Don't worry, mum," Ron nodded, "I think we can buy everything second-hand. I double-checked."

"Oh, thank you Ron, dear," she smiled, getting to work on cleaning dishes.

"Ron, you didn't double-check, I checked for you," Hermione groaned, swirling her tea.

"Right, but I checked _with_ you, didn't I?" He grinned again, shoveling more eggs into his mouth.

"Well, thank you, Hermione." Mrs. Weasley's wand began making furious scrubbing motions at a pot, her face wraught with concentration. "And Ronald, don't lie to your mum. You're seventeen now, you're much too old for that."

"Yes, mum," Ron said dully, earning him a glare from Hermione. "I won't," he said, this time with a little more conviction.

Slightly pouting, Ron went back to his eggs, which didn't seem to be disappearing despite the continuous pattern of fork to mouth, mouth to fork. Soon enough, the three of them had finished breakfast, and Ron had scampered upstairs to get dressed. Mrs. Weasley had put on the radio, and Celestina Warbeck's voice belted through the house, causing Harry to give Hermione a good-natured, but exasperated glance. Once everyone was dressed and fed, Mrs. Weasley ushered them out the door, but not before handing Ron his list, which he'd almost left behind.

"Thanks, mum," Ron croaked, stuffing it in his pocket.

Outside, the hills spotted around the house were a mild yellow-gold, dry as the fall weather set in. The sky was a light shade of grey, and Ron grunted something about rain.

"Alright, then," Harry said, clasping Ron and Hermione's hand. "Let's go."

Immediately, Harry felt the familiar pulling sensation, and he wavered a little as the hills disappeared. In an instant, his feet hit the rough stone of Diagon Alley, and he felt Hermione pulling at his arm.

"Come on, Harry, Ron, let's go get our cauldrons. I heard the second-hand ones were almost gone!" Her bushy hair bustling behind her, Harry and Ron followed in suit, nearly knocking over a small, portly old lady as they rushed through the crowd. The sounds of wizards and witches advertising their products, the warm smell of waffle cones at Fortescue's, and the cold, late-August air enveloped the three of them. They began darting from shop-to-shop, balancing cauldrons, books, and other items on their arms. A quick stop in each shop allowed them to retrieve everything in an hour, and soon they were left with the task of buying robes. A disgruntled Ron trudged after Harry and Hermione, grumbling about all the things he was carrying. The three all stepped into Madam Malkins, a rush of linen-smelling air blowing as the door opened.

"Harry Potter!" Malkins beamed, landing a soft pat on Harry's shoulder. "I'm in the middle of fitting someone, so I hope it'll be alright if you have to wait a bit?" She questioned, peering for a second at the frown on Ron's face.

"No, no, we can wait," Harry assured, getting a scowl from Ron. "Do you have a place we can set our stuff down?"

Eager to help, Madam Malkins beckoned Harry to come towards her. She directed him to a small, overstuffed chair in the corner, and the three of them set everything down.

"Oh," Ron huffed, "I don't think I can carry them home."

"Ron, you're going to apparate home," Hermione said, frustrated. "There's no more walking around involved."

"Yeah, but who knows if I'll keep everything together," he winced, most likely remembering the splinching incident.

"Ron, you've done it a million times."

"Well, I-I don't feel as confident this time."

Harry tuned out as they continued to fight, watching Madam Malkins walk around the shop, helping out the customer in the back. After a few minutes of non-stop bickering, Harry butted in.

"Alright, you two, quiet down, will you? I'm gonna go to the back and ask Malkins a question," Harry stood up, careful not to knock any of their items to the ground, and began making his way to the back. However, just as soon as he'd left, he could hear Ron and Hermione arguing again, apparently not listening to Harry's directions. He smiled to himself, staring at the ground, and nearly bumped into the figure before him.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," Harry said sheepishly, snapping his head up. However, as his looked up, what he saw almost made him jump. "Oh… Hello, Malfoy," Harry's voice lacked any contempt, too surprised to make jabs.

"It's fine," Malfoy said stiffly, drawing his cloak further over him.

"Fine?" Harry echoed, unsure of what to say. "When have you ever been 'fine'?"

"Right now," Malfoy growled, making a small step to indicate he wanted to get by. Harry, unaware, continued on, feeling his old self getting back into the rhythm of taunting Malfoy.

"Clever, Malfoy," Harry teased, "and what's with the cloak? You can't hide from being a Malfoy, you know."

Malfoy looked furious, but then instantly veiled his emotions with a stony mask. "Maybe you can," he said quietly, turning his eyes down.

Harry stood still for a moment. This certainly wasn't how most conversations with Malfoy went. He'd expected something far more vicious, to mock his parents or Dumbledore.

"Guess it's a good idea," Harry tried again, "since your dad's in Azkaban and all. At least they got rid of the dementors, right?"

This time, there was no initial reaction, and Malfoy seemed to regard Harry with little importance. "Only you would think about it that way, Potter." There seemed to be less malice in his name than usual, and Harry, once again dumbfounded, could barely recognize Malfoy's statement as an insult. It was more of a fact, really, or a very plausible conclusion.

"Well-I mean-he'll go mad, you know." Harry instantly felt a wave of regret, realizing he was taunting Malfoy about his parents — something he did to him.

"Maybe," Malfoy said, this time a hint of sadness in his voice. "Maybe."

The two stood in a cold, icy silence for a few seconds, Ron and Hermione's argument seeping into the room. Harry shrank back, not used to this change in character, half-wishing for Malfoy to tease him back.

"I'm going to go now," Malfoy said roughly, brushing past Harry and hitting his shoulder on the way. Harry, confused, turned around and watched as Malfoy stormed out of the shop. _Okay, well he's not completely numb, I spose,_ Harry reasoned, but couldn't help still feeling off-put. _Maybe he's plotting something… Maybe he's got some kind of a plan._ Harry stared at the spot where Malfoy had been standing just seconds ago, and he scratched his head. However, before he could think further, Madam Malkins interrupted his train of thought, taking him to go select clothes. Ron and Hermione soon joined him in the back, each buying their sets of school and dress robes. At this, Ron protested, remembering the last pair of dress robes he had bought for school.

"Oh, Ron," Hermione laughed, "we'll get you some second-hand ones that aren't maroon and frilly, okay?"

Though Ron didn't seem very convinced, he eventually settled on ones of a simple, spice brown color, which Hermione had said paired nicely with his hair. Harry, not especially attached to his bottle-green dress robes, bought black robes, and Hermione told them all that hers was a secret. To this, Ron rolled his eyes, warranting a dangerous look from her. At the end of the day, their arms were full of new cloaks, books, and ingredients, making Harry forget all about his encounter with Malfoy. When they stepped out of Malkins, Hermione grabbed his arm, and quickly, he felt the sickening feeling as he was wrenched off the ground and back onto the soft dirt outside the Burrow. Ron had nearly dropped everything, and Hermione had given him a firm sigh.

Later that evening, after dinner, Harry found himself sitting in Ron's room, the three of them watching as Hermione played around with her wand. Showing off, she had transfigured a teacup into a ferret, soon reminding Harry of what had happened in Malkins.

"I just remembered," Harry started, "I met Malfoy in Madam Malkins today."

"Oh, yeah, we saw someone burst out the door," Ron said, "he looked really angry."

"Really? See, when I ran into him, he was being… sort of civil, I guess. He was trying really hard not to argue, but I could tell he was pretty pissed…"

"What'd you say?" Hermione asked, brow slightly furrowed.

"What'd I say? To him?" At this, Hermione nodded. "I mean, nothing really unusual. He just… didn't respond normally. No teasing, barely aggressive. Maybe he was upset because I was talking about his father," Harry suggested, feeling a little guilty again.

"Well, Harry, his dad's in Azkaban," Hermione frowned.

"I know, I-I made fun of it, just a little," Harry shrugged, but was rewarded with a pat from Ron.

"Prat deserves it," Ron said smugly, nodding in approval of Harry.

"Oh, c'mon, Ron," Hermione replied, "you can't help but feel a little bad for him, even though he's a self-righteous, arrogant bastard." She smiled slightly at this, amused and yet ashamed that she would say such a thing.

"Huh? I only heard the 'self-righteous, arrogant bastard' part," Ron responded, only for Hermione to moan something about him being 'so unsympathetic'.

"I guess I feel a little bad," Harry admitted, looking down at his feet.

"Maybe he's trying to be… tolerable, Harry," Hermione remarked, looking Harry head-on.

"Why?" Harry laughed dryly, shaking his head.

"Well… the Malfoys have no power anymore, Harry. I'm sure Malfoy realizes that he isn't going to be nearly as popular, even with the Slytherins. He couldn't live up to the Dark Lord's expectations, so why would his old friends want to hang out with him?" Hermione continued to stare at Harry. "You know, Slytherins are all about self-preservation, and since the Dark Lord is gone… making nice is probably the easiest way for him to survive. Why fight when there's nothing to fight for anymore?" Hermione challenged, and Harry knew her words were right. His shoulders slumped, drenched in momentary guilt, before Ron butted in.

"Sounds good to me. I think Malfoy deserves a little taste of his own medicine," he grinned, only to be whacked with a pillow by Hermione. "Hey, 'Mione, why do you have to attack me every time I say something?"

"Because you say stupid things," she said grumpily, but Harry laughed.

"Oh, what's so funny about this, huh?" Ron huffed.

"You guys… you fight like a married couple."

At this, Hermione blushed, and Ron turned a very deep shade of maroon. "That's not true!" Ron coughed, but Harry only smiled.

"Well," Hermione stood up awkwardly, "I think I'm going to bed now."

She shuffled out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Why'd you say that, Harry?" Ron groaned, climbing into bed.

"It's true, you know," Harry smiled, clambering into his own bed. "And, besides, I think Hermione knows it too. You're the daft one here, Ron," Harry laughed.

"Maybe," he mumbled, pulling the cover over his heads. Taking Dumbledore's Deluminator, Ron stole the light, clicked back the device, and the room was swallowed by darkness.

"Night," Harry said, eyes already thick with sleep.

"Night," Ron responded, the two of them burrowing deeper under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More chapters coming soon, and coming quickly (I hope). Like I said, this is a super slow-burner with a long plot, so stick around if you want! Thanks again.  
> \- Bee.


	3. To Hogwarts Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the excitement of returning to Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy's strange behaviour keeps bringing Harry down.

That morning was far brighter and cheerier than yesterday's, the atmosphere boasting a belly of cerulean blue. Clouds swam about, as if someone had dipped their thumb in confectioner's sugar and streaked it across the sky. Harry was almost sad to leave; he had felt at home in the Burrow all summer. He ate slowly, enjoying the tumultuous amounts of food that Mrs. Weasley was piling onto their plates. He spent a good part of the morning avoiding his trunk, which had barely been able to close. Ginny was present this morning, having missed breakfast yesterday, and they spoke in polite tones about what they would be studying that year.

"I'm taking Potions again," Harry grumbled, sifting through his heap of potato hash. "If I go down the road of being an Auror, I've got to take it… Damn, I hate it."

"Well, Slughorn's still going to teach it, won't he?"

"I'm guessing," Harry's fork turned, mashing the potatoes into a nearly inedible state.

"Hurry up, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said kindly, eyeing the full plate of hash he was currently destroying. The train leaves in forty-five minutes, and Ron's still got to pack his bag!"

Ron, who, like yesterday morning, was eating an immense amount of eggs, looked up with his mouth bulging. "I thought I 'acked 'vrying, 'um," his words jumbled as he chewed. Swallowing, he tried again. "I thought I packed everything, mum."

"Not everything, dear," she said, picking up a dumpy-looking spellbook. "Forgot this."

Turning red, Ron took the book and finished off his eggs. "I'm going up to pack this away," he said, turning to run up the stairs. Hermione smiled, shaking her head.

"If he didn't have you Mrs. Weasley, he'd forget his underwear."

At this, Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all laughed. Ginny looked over towards him, and Harry felt a current of energy and unease run through him as she stared.

Harry looked back at Ginny. He wasn't sure where they stood — they'd been together for a couple happy months, but it seemed that they both had diverted their attention to putting the War behind them, not maintaining a relationship. It wasn't that either of them had exactly wanted it to stop, but Harry had pushed her away when he realized his situation compromised her safety. But after the war, nothing had happened. It left him feeling confused, dazed, and possibly hurt, but Ginny hadn't mentioned getting together. Harry supposed that Hermione would tell him to just ask her, but the summer had been strained and uncomfortable between them. Would it come off the wrong way if he said anything? Harry squashed a particularly resilient shred of potato, turning the plate into soup. He could feel Mrs. Weasley's eyes on him, so he shoveled a large, mushy, and very disgusting forkful of hash down his throat.

"Harry, are you done with your hash?" Mrs. Weasley reached for his plate, and Harry didn't resist. He was drowning in several emotions at the moment; excitement, nervousness, relief, fear. Harry was definitely fearful, and he realized that he was more afraid to be going this year, the safest of them all, than he had been when he entered his fifth or sixth year. What was Hogwarts going to be like without Dumbledore? He'd scraped by without Dumbledore's help when the three of them were destroying the Horcruxes, but the idea of someone else sitting his chair, McGonagall or not, frightened him. He took a deep breath, feeling Ginny's eyes boring right through him.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ginny asked, setting her tea down.

A moment's pause passed between them before he spoke.

"Yeah," he breathed, taking a sip of orange juice. "I'm alright."

"Dumbledore?" Ginny said perceptively, leaning towards him.

"All of them," Harry replied simply, thinking of Fred, of Remus, of Tonks, and Sirius. Seeing what must have been a somber look on Harry's face, Ginny supportively reached her hand out to rest it on Harry's. "Thanks, Gin," Harry smiled, thankful for her touch. However, before they could say anything more, Ron burst into the kitchen again, heaving his trunk behind him.

"Book. Packed," Ron, out of breath, let his trunk clatter to the floor. "So. Heavy."

Hermione and Ginny giggled, watching as Ron drew a bubbly-looking Pigwidgeon from behind his back.

"'Ello, Pig!" Ginny smiled, waving towards the little owl.

"Hopefully he'll behave better this year," Ron said grimly, making his way to the front door. "Hey, Hermione, Harry, I'll see you outside, yeah?" Ron jerked his head towards the hills outside, dragging his things behind him.

"He could have used magic," Hermione whispered, and Ginny giggled again.

"Poor Ronald," Mrs. Weasley sighed, "sometimes he's not always there," she joked, pointing to her head. Harry laughed along with the girls, taking another drink of juice. A peaceful quiet settled down upon them, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"I should go get my trunk too," Hermione said, jumping up and making her way to the stairs.

"Me too," Ginny said quietly, removing her hand from Harry's. With a fleeting smile, Harry watched her run up the stairs, right behind Hermione, soon out of sight. Alone, Harry took a final gulp of orange juice before standing up.

"Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled, before walking towards the stairs. Quickly, he ran up, grabbed his suitcase, levitated it down, and walked it out the door. In minutes, he stood next to everyone, with Ron looking rather grumpy, most likely realizing that he could have used magic to transport his belongings. Mrs. Weasley had come to stand at the doorway, a small, quiet tear slowly dripping down her face. Dabbing it away with a tissue, she pressed a hand to her chest, as if to steady herself.

"Last year at Hogwarts for all of you," Mrs. Weasley choked. "Ginny, study well, dear, I don't want you having to go for an eighth year like these ones."

"Oh, cheer up, mum, we'll be fine," Ron gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"It's just-Fred-oh, dear," she began crying more heavily, and Ron wrapped her in an awkward embrace.

"It's alright, mum," Ron said softly, before she planted a smushing, motherly kiss on his cheek. "You, too, Ginny, Harry, Hermione," she beamed through her tears, each giving them the same treatment. "I love you all," she croaked, waving as they all stood to apparate. "Have fun, dears, and don't get into trouble, Harry, Ron!" she warned, before Harry felt that strange, nauseating sensation. Focusing on Platform 9 ¾, Harry firmly gripped his trunk, stood his ground, and felt the world disappear under him.

...

After their trunks were taken away, and Harry found a compartment on the train, he waited for Hermione and Ron to be finished with their Prefect business. Luna, Neville, and Ginny had joined him in the car, however, and they made for good company. Luna kept going on about how her and her father had spent the summer searching for more Snorkacks and Wrackspurts, though Harry had a feeling that everyone was only half-listening. Neville seemed a little shaken, most likely daunted by the idea of returning to Hogwarts, and sat quietly in the car for the majority of the ride. When asked about his summer, though, Neville mentioned briefly about going on a trip with his Gran, but the details didn't seem to be very exciting. Ginny didn't say much, content with the background noise of Luna's ramblings, and Harry stared out the window, counting the minutes until Ron and Hermione showed up. Finally, impatient and bored, Harry got up to leave the boxcar.

"I'm going to go see if Ron and Hermione are done yet," Harry announced, pulling back the door.

"Oh? But Harry, I'd just gotten to the part where my father grappled the Snorkack," Luna chimed, "you see, it's very hard to do, and it's quite interesting how he did it. Wouldn't you like to stay to hear it?"

"Er, I would," Harry said, "but you can always tell me later, right?"

"Well, alright," Luna said airily, jumping right back into her story.

Escaping the boxcar, Harry began wandering the aisle aimlessly, shuffling past people as he searched for Ron and Hermione. Eventually, he reached the end of the hall, groaning as he went to turn and go the other way. However, before he could go, he spun around to see Malfoy staring right at him, trying to get by.

"Potter," Malfoy said, not particularly vicious.

"Malfoy."

The awkward silence filled in around them again, the hallway strangely empty.

"I need to get by," Malfoy said, his face blank. Again, Harry was completely stumped by his behavior; however, he quickly waved away the feeling, remembering what Hermione had said back at the Burrow. _Just be nice,_ Harry thought. _He's just self-preserving. His dad's in jail. No need to continue the silly schoolyard fights._

"Okay," Harry said simply, forcing himself not to make a jab. Something resembling relief spread across Malfoy's face, as if his iron exterior had been walling up for a fight, and it'd just crumbled.

"Thanks," he said, voice only a little gruff, and pushed past Harry into the next boxcar. Taking a quick glance, Harry noticed the car was completely empty; no Pansy, no Blaise, no Goyle, and certainly no Crabbe. Wondering if Hermione really was right, Harry averted his eyes and began making his way down the corridor, searching for his friends.

...

When Harry finally found Ron and Hermione, they'd barely grabbed something from the food cart before the train halted to a stop, causing a loud rumble of students to pour out from the train. Harry, still snacking on a chocolate frog, had slipped his robes on just in time, following Hermione as they seeped out the train door. The sunny, warm weather that had been there that morning had been washed away, a grim, grey sky releasing little sprinkles of rain. Drawing his cloak tightly around him, Harry made his way over to the carriages, the Thestrals scraping their hooves on the ground.

"See the Thestrals?" Harry pointed, and Ron blanched.

"Oh, wow," he blinked, "I can't believe I rode on one."

Though Ron didn't vocalize it, Harry knew he was really thinking about Fred. Not pushing the subject, the three of them, along with Neville, Ginny, and Luna, all hopped onto an open carriage. Just as Harry could feel the wheels moving along, he peered out the window, and saw a lonely, hunched Malfoy entering a carriage by himself. Eyes wide, Harry watched as his usual group of friends - Pansy, Goyle, and Blaise, all climbed into a separate carriage. He could just see, behind a dirty carriage window, the face of Malfoy, now free and released from its stony trap. A jolt of surprise ran through Harry as he watched Malfoy's face screw up in angry sorrow, putting his head into his lap. Harry saw what he thought was a sob rack Malfoy's body, and as he lifted his head, something wet covered his cheeks. The carriage began to move forward, but before Harry turned around, he caught Malfoy's eye; his expression changed from miserable to pure fear, realizing what Harry had just witnessed. Embarrassed, Harry whipped his head around, unsure of how to process what he'd just seen. There'd only been one other time Harry had seen Malfoy crying, and that was right before he'd tried to _crucio_ him…

The carriage rolled along, scaling the hill up to Hogwarts with great efficiency. Quickly, they arrived at the great doors, and everyone jumped out, heading straight for the castle. A heavier rain began to descent upon the students, and Harry raised a hand over his glasses, trying to see. He felt Hermione grab his hand, pulling him towards the castle, and relief washed through him as he felt his feet hit stone. Smiling, Harry stretched his arm out to feel Hogwarts again. He smelled something very good coming from the kitchens below, and ran after Ron, who was hurrying towards the Great Hall. He felt a little of his nervousness disappear as he was once again enveloped in the magic of Hogwarts.

"I'm starving," Ron grunted, feet clacking sharply on the ground. "I could eat a whole dragon right about now."

Once Hermione had caught up with them, the three all entered the Great Hall.

It felt different; the decorations were the same, the people were the same, but instead of Dumbledore peacefully reigning over Hogwarts, it was McGonagall. Even though Harry knew he was gone, he couldn't help but feel discouraged. A blue, swelling sadness built up inside him, seeping through his veins and pounding at his heart. He could almost see Dumbledore, warm, wise, and inviting, blue eyes twinkling through the gloom of September rain. Harry wrenched his eyes from the staff table and headed onwards into the Great Hall.

Walking swiftly towards the Gryffindor table, Harry seated himself between Ron and Seamus, who was excitedly talking to Dean about his summer.

"You won't believe it, Dean," Seamus spoke quickly, "we went to Rome this summer, and me and me mum got to see the Pope!"

Slowly, Harry watched a trickle of first years stumble in, all looking equally nervous. His stomach growled, remembering that he couldn't eat until everyone was sorted.

The sorting passed quickly, Harry only clapping for Gryffindors. After all the first years had sat down, on edge in their seats, McGonagall rose to greet the student body, a wise gaze setting upon her face.

"Good evening, students," McGonagall began. "I take it everyone is warm and dry?" She glanced up to the ceiling, which was demonstrating the weather outside — a crack of thunder interrupted the heavy sound of rain. "As you all know, I will be starting as Headmistress this year." A twinge of sadness was laced in her voice, and the Hall went silent. "I believe we should all have a moment of silence for those lost in the Battle of Hogwarts last year."

The students fell completely silent, and Harry kept his head down. He crammed in all the people he'd lost — Dumbledore, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Lupin, Tonks — even Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey he grieved. And Snape. Harry shut his eyes, his old hatred soon getting drowned out by confusing emotions. _He was so brave,_ Harry thought. _He should've been a Gryffindor._

A few minutes passed by before he looked up, realizing that many people had begun to cry. Even Ron had let out a tear, though his head was still down. Getting ready to plunge his head back into grief, Harry suddenly saw that Draco, too, had his head up. They stared for a moment, Harry feeling uneasy. Had Draco really seen him looking, back in the carriages? Draco's eyes were still red, with his cheeks puffy, and his face seemed to be wet with new tears. Harry almost had the urge to call across the Hall and say, " _It's okay, Malfoy."_ This notion was completely lost, however, when McGonagall raised her own head, speaking again to the students.

"Thank you, everyone. It is in times of great grief that we must support each other, regardless of house; I ask each and every one of you to be kind to your peers this year. We have lost much, and we need not lose more. I sense that everyone in this room has suffered greatly in the past years, but I hope that this loss, despite its seemingly dismal state, will be the uniting force among all of us. I wish for peace in Hogwarts. I can only hope that that is what you want as well. There will be," she said sternly, "no fighting and no misbehaving this year. There is nothing left to fight for," She finished strongly, dark eyes roving the room with intensity. Distantly, Harry was reminded of Hermione's statement: _Why fight when there's nothing to fight for anymore?_

"Now, I know it may be a hard transition from mourning to announcements," she said sharply, "but there is one major event coming up this year. Beauxbatons, the French Wizarding School for those who don't remember, has kindly accepted to host Hogwarts and Durmstrang in a celebration of the end of You-Know-Who and the War. All Eighth years and Seventh Years who are of age will attend the celebrations in February, where we will stay for a month in Beauxbatons' castle. On the last night, a ball will be held — the Plaisir Ball — and this is why I asked Eighth and Seventh Years to purchase dress robes," she said smoothly, looking down at all the students. "I hope everyone who is going has purchased them?"

Harry nodded, slowly mulling over her words. _Beauxbatons? A month?_ Ron jabbed his elbow in Harry's side, smiling.

"No school for a month!" Ron excitedly whispered, staring back up at McGonagall.

"And no," she narrowed her eyes, as if she knew exactly what Ron had said, "it _will not_ just be free-time. We will be doing many celebratory activities, but many of them will be educational."

At this, Ron's face fell. However, on the other side of the table, Hermione lit up.

"Educational? Did you hear that, Harry? I've always wondered if the French really do their magic any differently from us," her eyes glistened, and Harry could already imagine the books she was going to pack.

"As for other things," McGonagall addressed everyone now, "I only ask of kindness. Please," she said with a deep voice, "I would be disappointed to see students having problems with one another this year."

She paused, surveying the room once more.

"And now," she gave a thin-lipped smile, "let the food be served."

Plates and plates of delicious food appeared in front of Harry, and he began scooping as many things as he could onto his plate. Ravenous, he wolfed everything down, the food barely registering in his taste buds. Chugging a goblet of pumpkin juice, he washed away bits of bread, meat, and potatoes, greedily reaching for the last treacle tart. On his way there, his hand bumped with Ron's, and they both stared at each other aggressively.

"Go ahead, have it," Ron said, obviously not wanting Harry to have it.

"No, you," Harry gritted his teeth, stomach nearly jumping out to grab the tart itself.

"No, you," Ron grunted back, staring at the tart.

"You."

"You."

"No, you."

"I said you can have it, Harry!"

"Oh, the both of you!" Hermione groaned, taking the tart and breaking it in two. "Here! You could've just split it!"

Ron turned red, and Harry felt his face bloom pink. "Right," Harry mumbled. "Split it." Taking the tart, Harry bit into it, smiling as he did so.

"I swear," Hermione shook her head, "Sometimes you two have the brains of Pigwidgeon."

Ron muttered something about ' _wrong… I'm plenty intelligent…owl's a complete dimwit... I'm not...'_ while Harry finished off the tart.

…

Later that night, after Hermione and Ron had led everyone to Gryffindor tower, and they'd all had enough of milling around in the common room, Harry laid in his bed, the sound of Ron snoring interrupting his thoughts.

Though he'd expected to be kept up with thoughts of Dumbledore and the Battle, the memory of Draco's red, crying, and wholly undignified, un-Malfoy face kept towering over everything else. It seemed Hermione was right; no one had sat with him on the train, on the carriage, or even near him at the Slytherin table. Come to think of it, Draco had actually been sitting far away from his peers, estranged by a long line of First Years. He hadn't bullied any new students, or old students for that matter (not even Neville) and had kept entirely to himself. The encounter in the train was strange, and the one in Malkins stranger. Harry turned in his bed. _Once again, Hermione's right,_ he concluded, unable to come up with a sensible answer to Malfoy's behavior. Harry supposed it was for the better; Hogwarts definitely didn't need another conceited, openly mudblood-hating Slytherin. _That's a nice thought,_ Harry reasoned. _At least, if redemption and preservation is his path, he won't call Hermione a mudblood._

With this odd, newfound comfort on his mind, Harry drifted off to sleep, mind peaceful for once as he floated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Draco and Harry scenes coming soon. Please review, it helps with my writing (constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, no outright negativity though). Follow if you want to be notified, as I'll try to add chapters as consistently as possible. Thanks for reading, and I hope you stay for more!  
> -Bee


	4. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's not himself, it seems.

It seemed that the day had a plan for Harry. On his way down to the Great Hall, he'd tripped on a faulty stair, causing an uproar of laughter from the Slytherins on the flight below. Red-faced and grumpy, Harry had then proceeded to breakfast, only to bump into Dean as he had sat down. Poor Dean ended up with his face in a pile of porridge, and despite the amount of times Harry apologized, Dean still seemed very passive. Once Harry had finally started eating, he was beyond humiliated, and the ear-to-ear grin that Ron was sporting didn't make him feel any better.  
"Ron, drop the smile, will you?" Harry said, glumly spreading some butter on his toast. "I've been embarrassed enough this morning."  
"So it's true? I heard from the Slytherins that you tripped in the hall, " Ron said gleefully. "Normally, of course, I'd never believe a word coming of those little snakes' mouths, but this was just too good."  
"Oh, Ron, be nice, Harry just tripped. Everyone trips," Hermione chided, and Harry smiled gratefully at her.  
"But it's Harry," Ron argued, "Usually it's me knocking people into their porridge," Ron stole a glance at Dean, who still had a little porridge on his forehead.  
"Well, not everyone can be perfect," Harry snapped, stabbing his toast.  
"Hey, calm down, mate," Ron said carefully, "I'm only joking."  
"I know," Harry said forcefully, "It's just-I'm a little upset this morning, is all."  
Hermione sent Ron a glance that told him not to push it further, and Harry was thankful when Ron didn't pursue.  
They were all silent for a few minutes. Harry took his eyes off his toast, which was cut into several pieces, and let his eyes wander around the room. He hovered on the Slytherin table, and noticed that Malfoy was, like yesterday, sitting several heads away from his usual clique. Suddenly, Malfoy turned up to look at him, and they were caught, for a brief moment, in each other's stares. Harry felt his stomach twist with unease, feeling like he couldn't look away. Then, as if nothing had happened, Malfoy lowered his head, and Harry turned back to his toast. He didn't seem to be nearly as upset as last night — the swelling had gone down, the red in his eyes had reduced — but the familiar sneer was nonexistent, just like all the other days. Maybe this really is his new normal, Harry thought, taking a piece of cut-up toast.  
"So, Harry," Hermione piped up, "what classes have you got today?"  
"I'm not sure. I know we have Potions with the Slytherins this afternoon."  
"Oh no," Ron groaned, "why couldn't I have failed that one class? Slughorn's gonna pair me with Goyle… or worse, Pansy…"  
"It won't be that bad Ron," Hermione patted his arm, though she didn't seem so convinced herself.  
"Oh sure," he said sourly, "and you'll be just jumping to work with Millicent, won't you?"  
At this, Hermione wrinkled her face, quietly saying nothing.  
…  
The morning had flown by, with Transfiguration and Charms proving to be fun, but quite hard. Harry had failed in trying to nonverbally morphe his pebble into a dragonfly, but, like usual, Hermione didn't seem to have a problem. Then, later on, Harry had succeeded in performing the Augamenti Charm, but in doing so had accidentally sprayed the bottom of Ron's robes. It was with a red face and a fresh new wave of humiliation that Harry set off with, walking towards the Potions classroom after lunch. Once he had arrived, Harry had taken a seat in the far back, him and Ron quietly discussing the catastrophes to come.  
"Hello, hello," Slughorn tottered into the room, "Good afternoon, Students."  
A few weak, scattered 'hullos' bounced around the room.  
"Wonderful, wonderful… Well," Slughorn clapped his hands together, "today we're going to be doing a little review — something from sixth year, if anyone remembers."  
Stepping aside, Slughorn grandly revealed a pot of something yellow and aromatic. Harry leaned forwards in his seat.  
"Elixir to Induce Euphoria," Slughorn announced proudly, "and if I remember correctly, Mr. Potter brewed a perfect — nay, outstanding — batch of it last year. Added peppermint to reduce the side effects, didn't you?" Though Slughorn said it quite cheerily, Harry nearly gagged.  
"Er, yes, Professor."  
"Well, I'll be thrilled to see what you do with it this time!" Slughorn chuckled, stepping in front of the Elixir again. "I'll be dividing everyone into pairs, and- no, Mr. Weasley, you will not be working with Mr. Potter," Slughorn glanced at Ron, who had tugged on Harry's robes. "In fact," Slughorn peered around the room, "I'd like two of my best potions students to work together. Harry, will you sit in the empty seat next to Mr. Malfoy?"  
Harry glanced to where Slughorn was looking, and saw Malfoy sitting, hunched over a book on his own table. Swallowing hard and attempting to push away the nervous storm that was brewing in his stomach, Harry grabbed his things and sat next to Malfoy, who seemed to not have noticed a change.  
"Lovely," Slughorn grinned, "no doubt that will bring amazing results."  
There was a brief pause as everyone stared at Slughorn incredulously.  
Harry gulped. He didn't have the Prince's book anymore, and so now it was up to Malfoy to impress Slughorn. Hermione was right. I should've never got involved with that damn book. Harry looked over to Malfoy, who still had his head down.  
"Alright," Slughorn had already paired off everyone else, placing Ron with Neville, and Hermione with Pansy. She looked grim.  
"Please," Slughorn beckoned to the class, "begin."  
Immediately, everyone began getting up to retrieve their materials. Looking back to Malfoy, Harry waited, hoping that he'd get directed on what to do.  
"Er… Malfoy?"  
No response.  
"I… uh, I can go get the materials, if you want," Harry suggested, but still Malfoy remained silent. Is he asleep? Harry thought, and reached a tentative hand out to touch his shoulder. Lightly, Harry gave him a little shove. When nothing happened, he shook him again, this time causing Malfoy to dazedly lift his head up.  
"What," he said quietly, before turning to Harry and realizing it was he who woke him up.  
"Oh," he said, nose slightly crinkled, "it's you."  
Though there was only a trace of venom, Harry still felt uncomfortable. "Yeah," Harry responded. "It's me."  
"Good to know," Malfoy said airily, before putting his head back down.  
Harry sat, frozen, unsure of what to do. Malfoy's never fallen asleep in class…   
After a minute, Malfoy turned up again, this time with a brow raised. "Well?" He coolly demanded, and Harry was speechless.  
"W-well what?" Harry stammered.  
"Well, go get the ingredients," Malfoy said simply, though Harry could tell he was annoyed.  
"I-you were listening?" Harry said, the words feeling stupid as they came out of his mouth.  
"Yes," Malfoy stared at Harry.  
"Em… but I thought you were sleeping… You can't hear in your sleep, can you?"  
Malfoy blinked at Harry. "No, Potter. I wasn't sleeping. Now, can you go get the supplies?" Malfoy's drawl seeped in a little, but his gaze remained bored and plain.  
"Er-right-okay," Harry left the table, making his way to the back. For the first time in a long time, Malfoy was humiliating him — usually, Harry felt like he was doing the embarrassing. Harry had stood his ground in the Forbidden Forest on his first-ever night of detention, while Malfoy had run around screaming. Back in Fourth year, Harry had caused Malfoy to turn into a ferret, and normally, when they got in arguments, Harry would always be a little more collected; Malfoy tended to resort to petty insults, pouting, and getting angry, like he was a temperamental toddler. What is this? Harry thought, confused. He grabbed everything he needed and came back to the table, where Malfoy had already set up a cauldron.  
"Good," he said, not even looking up to insult or poke fun at Harry. Breathing out, Malfoy rummaged through the ingredients Harry had set down. Without a word, he began setting to work, plopping various items in.  
"Did you get peppermint, too?" Malfoy said, voice void of tone.  
"Er, yeah," Harry said awkwardly, sliding back into his seat. "Do I need to do anything?"  
Malfoy peered up at Harry for a second. "Chop this." Malfoy handed Harry a piece of shrivelfig, and then resumed to reading his textbook. Warily, he began chopping, slowly paying less and less attention to the knife in his hands.  
I wonder what's wrong with Malfoy, Harry looked over at him, thinking. Sure, Hermione's probably right, but would Malfoy really try to redeem himself? I know Hermione said it was all about self-preservation, but it's strange to think that Malfoy wouldn't have any hope of his family's reputation returning… He's certainly butchered it now, Harry thought decidedly, with all that crying. On the other hand, it's definitely easier for Malfoy to just fall into the background. Defying everyone would require a lot more bravery… and Slytherins don't tend to be brave…   
Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp prick in his hand, and looked down to see the shrivelfig coated in a thin layer of blood.  
"Oh, shit," Harry cursed, and then flew his good hand to his mouth.  
"Slughorn's not looking. You can curse all you want," Malfoy said calmly. Calm? Harry's thoughts whirled. When has Draco bloody Malfoy ever been calm?! "Here," Malfoy extended his hand, "Let me see."  
Harry hesitated. Give Malfoy my hand? My hand?   
Draco seemed to notice, and shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you, Potter." At this, Harry scoffed.  
"Well, how do I know that?" he challenged, remembering the several occasions on which Malfoy had tried to duel, attack and kill him. Malfoy paused for a second, looking away.  
"That's done now," he said, voice quiet and strained.  
Harry, now feeling like someone was definitely possessing Malfoy's body, cautiously placed his hand down.  
"Episkey," Malfoy recited, and Harry's cut vanished. "Tergeo." With a flick of Malfoy's wand, Harry's blood rapidly disappeared.  
"Wow," Harry said, amazed, "thanks."  
"You're welcome," Malfoy grunted, slightly stiff.  
Holding his hand up to the light, Harry examined it; no scars. "You're good at that."  
"Thanks," Malfoy repeated, dropping something else into the cauldron. He reached for the shrivelfig, and Harry winced.  
"Sorry about that," Harry motioned to the blood, now slowly drying into a thick paste.  
"It's fine." Malfoy took his wand, muttered something else, and the blood was gone. Swiftly, he brushed the fig into the cauldron, and a cloud of pink smoke erupted in their faces.  
"Pretty," Harry murmured, convinced Malfoy couldn't hear him. However, to his surprise, he responded.  
"It is," Malfoy said softly, and Harry gave him a bizarre look. Maybe someone's drinking polyjuice, Harry worked out, and this isn't really Malfoy.   
"Hey," Harry concentrated on him, trying to figure out if it was someone else underneath his face, "what's the curse that I used on you in that bathroom, sixth year, when you were… when we were duelling?" Harry said this as casually as possible, watching as Malfoy went from carefully protected and lightly formal to worried, his emotions rising to the surface.  
"Why do you ask?" He said, attempting to remain composed. Harry, however, easily heard the tension in his voice.  
"No reason," Harry chewed the inside of his lip. I've got the intruder, I've got them! Harry's mind chanted.  
"I-You-" Malfoy stared uneasily at Harry. "Sectumsempra," he whispered.  
Oh. Harry's mind reeled. Polyjuice is out, then.   
"Right," Harry said, slightly disappointed. "Right."  
Only Snape, Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and maybe some of the other teachers would have known that… Drat, Harry scowled.  
"Is it funny to you, Potter?" Malfoy questioned, voice a little high. He wasn't acting angry, but he seemed extremely tense. Harry watched as Malfoy struggled to get control of his emotions.  
"Is what funny to me?"  
"My father. Sectumsempra. All the things that are… of great importance to me. My issues."  
Harry stared in wonder at Malfoy. Who is this? "No… I just-I only asked-"  
"Just-It's fine, Potter," Malfoy turned back to the cauldron, face back to formality. Just like that, as quickly as his walls had broken, he'd put them back up. Harry slumped in his seat, bewildered.  
What is Malfoy up to? However, Harry quickly combated this thought. I've got to stop thinking that way. The Dark Lord's gone — there's nothing for Malfoy to 'get up to'. Hermione's right, Harry thought weakly, and I guess I can't accept it.   
Starting to feel rather foul over all the embarrassing, highly confusing things today, Harry flicked a piece of leftover shrivelfig. In a horrible twist, though, what had meant to be a harmless gesture of frustration erupted into disaster — literally. The shrivelfig Harry had flipped had dived straight into the cauldron fire, but instead of burning up, it tumbled right out, fell on the floor, and caught the hem of Malfoy's robe ablaze. Something Malfoy had been gingerly sprinkling into the potion all slipped in at once, Malfoy having lost grip when he realized he was on fire. Yelping, Malfoy tried to stamp it out, but to no avail. Meanwhile, the potion began to boil, letting out terrible puffs of smoke. It then exploded, spewing across the classroom in several directions. It hit Slughorn square in the chest, a sticky, hot substance covering his robes.  
"Potter! What the hell did you do to me!" Malfoy kept jumping, soon realizing his robe was lost. Unclipping it, Malfoy stood in simple black clothes, which had thankfully not caught on fire yet.  
"Augamenti!" Harry pointed his wand, dousing Malfoy's left leg and his burning cloak in water.  
"Potter! Malfoy!" Slughorn stumbled over, trying to remove the goo off his stomach. "What in merlin's name…" He gasped as he saw Malfoy's singed cloak and the bubbling elixir, which was still emitting an unpleasant-smelling smoke. "What happened here?" He demanded, eyes wide.  
"Potter," Malfoy spat, though his walls still remained, "tried to set me on fire."  
"I did not!" Harry said angrily.  
"I know you two have a rivalry," Slughorn sighed, "but it is not okay to set students on fire, Mr. Potter, though I do admire your handiwork… What spell did you use on Mr. Malfoy?"  
"I didn't use a spell!" Harry argued, "I flicked a shrivelfig near the cauldron by accident, and then it caught on fire. I think it fell on the floor and set Malfoy's robes up in flames."  
"A compelling story," Malfoy said, "but I doubt it. He's been insulting me since the day we got here. I'll bet he's been dying for a chance to mess with me."  
"Yeah?" Harry turned to face Malfoy, "It's not like I was doing anything different. We always fight. You're the one messing it up with your little 'act for redemption'."  
Malfoy stared. "Redemption?" He said slowly, voice wavering.  
"Yeah, 'redemption'. You've been entirely… well… sort of civil to me, we aren't arguing, and you haven't picked on a single person since you've been here! If anything, you're being weird, Malfoy. But don't worry," Harry said fiercely, "I'm not falling for it. It's all some kind of a trick, to make everyone think you've changed." Harry glared at him. "I know you haven't changed at all, Malfoy."  
The class had long since abandoned their elixirs, and Harry could feel everyone's eyes on him. He looked back at Malfoy, who flinched when Harry turned to him.  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy said meekly.  
"Yes, you do," Harry said, frustrated, "and you can drop the act right now, because it isn't work-"  
"Boys!" Slughorn interrupted, staring at the two of them. "Stop this! Harry, shrivelfig or not, you've disrupted my class, and I would think it beneath you to argue so childishly with Mr. Malfoy! I want to see both of you for detention — a week will do it, I think."  
"Sir, both of us?" Malfoy asked, searching Slughorn's face for a sign that he made a mistake.  
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn shook his head, "both of you."  
"But-"  
"Mr. Malfoy, though you did not explicitly do anything wrong, I happen to think that you and Mr. Potter need to learn how to get along… Only for a week, boys. I cannot teach this class if you two are going to be causing trouble." Slughorn looked distastefully at them, before turning around to face the class.  
"Carry on, carry on!" He cried, shooing everyone back to their seats.  
Harry sat down, slumping in his seat, and turned to Malfoy, who looked furious. However, the instant he looked over, Malfoy's walls went up, and he sat down placidly next to Harry.  
"Was it really a shrivelfig?" He asked tiredly, and Harry nodded. Reaching down, Harry picked up the remains of the burnt shrivelfig, handing it to Malfoy.  
"Oh," he said quietly, looking down at the fig.  
"Sorry about your robe," Harry said delicately.  
"It's…" Draco's frustration surfaced for a moment, but he seemed to push it back down, calming himself. "Fine."  
They sat in silence for the rest of the period, and Harry felt his stomach twisting; a whole week of detention. With Malfoy. Praying it wouldn't be the death of him, Harry sagged in his seat, putting his head into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want, follow my story to stay notified. Feel free to leave a review, and I hope you stay for more chapters (coming soon!). Thanks again,  
> -Bee


	5. Stripped of Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry saves Draco.

That evening promised to be bleak. Dinner was gloomy, the Great Hall swathed in great, fleecy clouds, and it was mostly dark, save for the light of a few floating candles. Harry had eaten very little, his whole body blanketed in nerves. It felt a bit like an oversized truck had ran right over him, turning his insides to mush. When he had finished playing with a few cold carrots on his plate, Harry realized that it was already time to leave for detention. Ron and Hermione had given him some reassuring smiles, but as he currently made his way to Slughorn's classroom, the imminent feeling of dread didn't disappear. Turning a corner, Harry felt an icy draft creep into the hallway, making the stone as cold as his hands.

He hadn't had much time to think about what had happened in Potions just hours earlier, but he knew that detention wasn't going to be any better. It frustrated Harry immensely that Malfoy could so easily switch his emotions on and off, and as he continued down into the dungeons, he started feeling slightly angry towards him. He'd blamed Harry, and it was mostly because of him that they were both stuck with Slughorn tonight. _If Malfoy hadn't had the need to make everything my fault,_ Harry thought bitterly, _we'd be sitting happily in our common rooms, not on our way to detention._

Trudging the last steps towards Slughorn's classroom, Harry took a deep breath. Reaching for the door, Harry pushed it and stepped inside, surprised to see that Malfoy wasn't there yet.

"Mr. Potter! Right on time. Please, take any seat," Slughorn gestured vaguely around the classroom.

Following Slughorn's orders, Harry seated himself in the back of the room, trying to vanish.

It seemed like an agonizingly long three minutes as Harry sat there, bored and stomach twisting, before Malfoy arrived. His face remained as flat as always, and he took a seat in the front, far away from Harry. Feeling a little safer, Harry leaned back into his chair, attempting to relax.

"Well, boys," Slughorn reprimanded, "I think we know why we're here tonight."

Both Harry and Malfoy nodded, heads turned from each other.

"Good. As you seem to have team-working issues with each other, I'd like for you boys to organize my Potions cupboard," Slughorn jerked his head to the supply closet in the back. "It will take both of you to thoroughly clean it out, and the only way you'll get out of here quicker is if you work together. Avoiding one another," Slughorn licked his lips, "will result in staying longer than an hour, and I'm sure neither of you wants that."

At this, Harry nodded, remembering the essay he had to finish for Transfiguration.

"Wonderful," Slughorn smiled. "I won't keep you, but if you boys need anything, I'll be in my office." Slughorn motioned to a door on his right, and Harry nodded again. With a clap of his hands, Slughorn left, leaving Draco and Harry alone.

Neither said anything for a few seconds, before Malfoy stood up and started making his way to the cupboard.

"Let's get this over with," he said coolly, walking into the storage room.

"Em-alright," Harry got up, walked to the closet, and stepped inside, instantly hit with the powerful smell of must, herbs, and other potions ingredients. "Oh, wow," Harry muttered, crinkling his nose.

"Strong smells," Draco said absently, already beginning to pick through a few boxes. "Here," he said coldly, throwing something to Harry. "You do this side," Draco waved to the left, "and I'll do this side," he pointed to the right. Too nervous to say much, Harry just nodded, getting to work on his assigned side. He flew through the first box Malfoy had given him, and quickly got through half, before coming across a box of small labeled bags. Inside were miniscule amounts of ingredients that Harry guessed were expensive, and he spent a good deal of time arranging the oddly named powders and dried fruits in alphabetical order. After that, it was easy work again, and before Harry knew it, an hour had gone by. When the two of them had finally finished, stepping back to admire their work, Harry had smiled. It _did_ look good; Slughorn would probably be impressed.

"Not bad," Harry whispered, and though Draco didn't respond, he had a good feeling that Malfoy felt the same way.

When Slughorn had dismissed them, and they had escaped the cupboard, Harry swore Draco was actually looking a little pleased. His impassive, steely gaze had been replaced with not quite an expression of content, but certainly something far pleasanter than the deadpan stare he had come in with. Feeling nearly happy himself, Harry left, though a nagging thought kept pounding in the back of his mind: _Why in Merlin am I so chipper after a detention with Draco bloody Malfoy?_

…

The next couple of days went much more smoothly than Harry's first, with detention becoming more of a nighttime nuisance than punishment. Draco barely spoke each night, cold politeness acting as a barrier between them. Each time they finished an activity, however, Harry was convinced that Malfoy left feeling at least a little better; being able to work in the same room, without arguing, was a feat in itself. These three days of detention ran smoothly, causing Harry's anxiety to fade; his calm was also most likely caused by the excitement of the Quidditch tryouts, which were today. It was with a little of renewed faith in himself that Harry entered the field that morning, watching through the fog as a line of Gryffindors lined up to fill the positions. He ran through the first couple, appalled at their flying skills, but soon found some talent in a shy, small sixth year named Julien, and placed a girl named Maggie as a chaser. Finally, he came to the last contestant, who was… well, to say the least, highly excited.

"Erm… Romilda Vane? For Beater?" Harry stared in disbelief as Romilda sauntered across the field towards him, grinning.

"Hi, Harry!" she called cheerfully, snatching up an old Cleansweep. "I thought I might make a good beater, and you know I'm always glad to see you! Especially after you and the Weasley girl broke it off."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "Didn't you already try out for the Quidditch team? In sixth year?"

Romilda smiled. "Which is all the more reason to try again," she chirped, swinging a leg over the broom. In a flash, she rose unsteadily, legs dangling.

"You got it?" Harry asked, watching as she struggled with the broom handle.

"Oh-yeah-erm," Romilda grunted, firmly grabbing the handle of the Cleansweep. "All good!" She called, a broad smile stretched across her face.

"Okay," Harry said warily, running over to where the bludgers were locked safely in place. "I'm going to release this, and I need you to hit it with the- Romilda, did you get the bat?" Harry shook his head, watching as she came down to pick up the bat, which was lying sullenly on the ground.

"Alright," Harry watched her rise up again, "I'm going to open the restraints, okay?"

Struggling with the buckle, Harry let the bludger soar into the air, instantly zooming towards Romilda.

"Okay, Romilda!" Harry yelled, watching as the bludger nearly whacked into her head, "Hit it with the bat when it comes back again!" Eyes wide, Harry winced as she lamely hit the bludger, only sending it a couple of feet in front of her. "A little harder, maybe!"

She tried again, but with even worse results. Sighing, Harry hopped up on his own broom, shaking his head as Romilda pathetically squirmed around on the Cleansweep.

"Here, here," Harry reached out for the bludger, nearly slipping off his broom as he caught it in his arms. "Okay," he grunted, using all his might to keep the bludger in his arms. Slowly, he descended, and when he touched the ground, Harry forcefully shoved the bludger back in place. A dizzy Romilda stumbled after him, rubbing her side.

"Well," Harry turned, trying his best not to grimace. "That was… not great."

She seemed discouraged, something Romilda rarely was, and Harry bent his head. "I'm sorry, Romilda, but I just don't think that you're going to make it on the team." Looking up, he saw her nose wrinkle and eyes water. Praying she wouldn't cry, Harry touched her shoulder and steered her away from the field.

"Em… maybe another time?" Harry instantly regretted his words the minute they came out of his mouth.

"But there won't be another time!" Romilda whined, and Harry started walking faster.

"Well, maybe not at Hogwarts, but… uh…" Harry struggled, searching for something he could say.

Suddenly, Romilda brightened. "We could just have a match together, right, Harry? Just ride around on our brooms? Maybe we could even share one," her eyes glistened, and Harry's hand receded from its place on her shoulder.

"Oh, er, I… I guess…" Biting his lip, Harry hoped that Romilda would someday forget this promise.

"Oh, wonderful!" Romilda beamed, whirling around to face Harry head-on. "I'm looking forward to it! Maybe next weekend, huh? Oh-wait, no, that's the Hogsmeade trip…"

"Hogsmeade?" Harry questioned, slightly curious.

"Oh, yeah, it's next weekend… Ooh, I know, we could both go to Madam Puddifoot's, instead of Quidditch! Doesn't that sound even better, Harry?" Romilda jumped up and down, startling him.

"Em… I, uh…" Harry desperately reached for a lie, "I'm actually not going. Yeah. I'm… not going." Harry gulped, starting to walk again. Instead of taking a hint, Romilda bounced along, still smiling.

"That's a bummer!" She simpered, pouting. "Quidditch match it is, then! Next Sunday, after the trip, okay Harry?" Romilda then ran ahead, but not before giving a girlish wave back to him. Harry weakly waved back, waiting until she had her back turned to groan.

"I think she got more annoying over the summer," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. He stopped for a second, breathing in the crisp fall air. Opening his eyes, Harry's eyes floated over to the lake, where he watched a leaf slowly drift from its branch. As his eyes followed the leaf, however, he saw a dark figure hunched under the tree. In a matter of seconds, a group of Slytherins joined the figure, speaking loudly.

"How sad," a girl's voice tittered, "he's sitting all by himself. Not so powerful anymore, are you, blondie?"

"Look, he won't even speak," a gruff voice, probably a man's, came from the tallest Slytherin. He leaned down, smiling maliciously.

"Little daddy's boy hasn't got any influence, has he? Been moping around Hogwarts, acting more like a Hufflepuff than a Slytherin… I wonder, how's this goody-two-shoes business working for you, eh? It's cute and all, but how long can you keep it up?" A slightly smaller man circled the boy, obviously proud of his taunt.

Harry's stomach sank as he tied two and two together. He had a feeling that he knew who was under the tree. The boy said nothing, as if his bullies were invisible.

"What a hero," the girl sighed, "almost as good as Potter, I'd say. Too noble to even speak to us. No wonder you couldn't carry out the Dark Lord's orders," she shook her head, "he must have known you were a little saint on the inside."

The boy stirred, but made no other movement.

"I wonder what daddy would think," the smaller boy sneered, "now that your whole family is virtually worthless. If he ever gets out of Azkaban — which he won't — he'll disown you once he's seen what you've become. Might as well go marry a Gryffindor, since you're down this 'road of goodwill'."

"A Gryffindor," the tall boy echoed, snatching the top of the boy's cloak. He roughly pulled him up, and the hood that had been concealing his face slipped away.

"Aw, look, Malfoy's all upset now," the girl laughed, "how weak! I mean, Malfoy, I really want to know; how _did_ you happen to completely ruin the reputation of one of the most powerful pure-blooded families in the Wizarding World? And in a _week_?"

The tall boy and the shorter boy both sniggered along with the girl, and Malfoy's carefully protected face looked a little broken.

"I can't believe you think making nice with the light side is going to save you from anyone," she hissed, teeth glinting viciously.

Finally, Malfoy spoke, though Harry could hardly hear him. "What do you mean, 'save me from anyone?'" He was trying to look brave, but it was clear that he was afraid.

"Aw, he doesn't know? I almost feel bad!" She giggled. "You tell him, Bailey!" She punched the small boy, and he grinned.

"There are… certain people out there, Malfoy, who don't like it when ex-Death Eaters try and convert. Even if the Dark Lord's gone, some still have loyalty — unlike you. I think you'll soon find that some people — especially old supporters — won't be too happy to hear that you're pretending to fit in," he jeered, shoving Malfoy.

"And maybe we're those people!" the girl cried hysterically, nearly exploding with excitement.

Malfoy shrunk back, sliding down the tree. "What?" he said meekly, trying to draw his hood back over his head. "Just-just leave me alone, please."

The small boy, Bailey, shook his head. "You're not getting away that easily, Malfoy. You know, our parents aren't too pleased with you either," he scoffed, "they were hoping you'd have a little faith. Even without the Dark Lord, we can still thrive."

"Thrive? But-"

"Look here, Malfoy," Bailey's tone was dangerous, "there's a new movement. Someone… new. To lead us. Someone like You-Know-Who," he bent down to be level with Draco. "He's coming for you, Malfoy," Bailey whispered, smiling. "Unless, of course, we do it first." With this note of finality, Harry watched in horror as Bailey and the taller boy shoved Malfoy to the ground, kicking him. The girl kept jumping, excited, watching as Bailey hauled Malfoy into the lake.

"Let's see what the giant squid thinks of filth like you, Malfoy!"

The girl squealed, and Bailey stood back while he enjoyed the sight of Malfoy flailing in the water. "Oh, c'mon Malfoy, don't tell me we kicked you so hard you can't swim?"

"I think you did! I think you kicked him hard!" The girl said gleefully.

Before Harry even knew what he was doing, he started racing towards the lake, wind rippling through his robes. The girl's eyes flashed as Harry pelted past her, and Bailey didn't even attempt to stop him as he made his way to the bank, wading into the water. Harry tugged in his pocket, searching for his wand — but realized that he'd stupidly left it lying next to his four poster, afraid it would snap during the Quidditch tryouts. Just a few feet out, Malfoy was struggling, and Harry, bracing himself to manually fetch him, swam forward, reaching his hand out. Malfoy clasped it, gasping as his head was submerged in cold lake water.

"Here, come with me!" Harry strained, pulling Malfoy as hard as he could.

"My-leg," Malfoy said between bobs under the water, "I think-it's broken."

Nodding, Harry continued pulling him towards the edge of the lake, starting to breath better when he felt the land curve upwards.

"Okay, okay, almost there," Harry reassured, tugging on Draco's arm. "Just a little further."

Safely, they dragged themselves up onto the land, not noticing as Bailey, the other boy, and the girl fled, aware of what they'd just done. Heaving himself up, Harry pulled Draco out of the water a little more and looked at his leg.

"Do you know how to heal this?" Harry asked urgently, shaking Malfoy's shoulder. He shook his head.

"No," he grunted weakly, trying to pull himself up. "Madam Pomfrey."

Breathing heavily, Harry ran up to the castle, hoping that no one would bother Draco further as he laid on the bank, injured and helpless.

…

When Madam Pomfrey finally arrived, she took Draco and Harry up to the castle, quietly fuming over the Slytherins who did it. Harry, shaken but fine, stared in absolute wonder as Pomfrey laid Draco down on a hospital bed. Harry had never seen bullying of that sort before. Save the occasional punch or kick he'd endured from Dudley, Harry had never witnessed a bully attempting to severely injure their victim - let alone drown them. It was downright cruel, Malfoy or not. _And to physically beat him,_ Harry thought, _instead of using magic… it's like they knew Malfoy would have been distraught to have died in such a muggle-like fashion._ Even Malfoy himself, who was a bully in his own right, had never quite tried to kill another student — _well,_ Harry mused, _I take that back. He has. But somehow, this seems crueler…_ Confused by his own thoughts, Harry turned away from Draco, thinking. _I suppose the countless times he's tried to Crucio me, or when he was trying to kill his own peers in the Battle of Hogwarts_ is _worse, but it was all his father's fault, right? His father's influence?_ Again confused by his own thought process, Harry ignored himself, pushing everything away.

"Potter?" Pomfrey called, bustling over. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Can you tell me exactly what happened to Mr. Malfoy? Other students, you say?"

Harry nodded, and proceeded to inform Pomfrey of what had happened at the lake.

"... And then, I just pulled him out. Without magic," Harry quickly added, wincing at his own stupidity. "I forgot my wand in my dorm room."

Nodding, Pomfrey sank in the information. "Well, it was certainly noble, Mr. Potter," she finally said, looking at Harry. "Now, shoo," she pushed him out the door, patting his back slightly. "I need to care for Mr. Malfoy."

Shutting the hospital door in Harry's face, Pomfrey walked away, the sound of her shoes clacking on the stone floor.

Head spinning, Harry started walking down the hallway, confused for the millionth time over an interaction with Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm going to keep trying to get chapters out consistently, but with school beginning in a little while, it may be harder.   
> -Bee


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